


From The Desk Of Greg Lestrade

by 3littleowls



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Bondage, No actual chickens outside the summary, strip clubs, summerlock exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is an arse to everyone around him, but sometimes the chickens do come to roost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Desk Of Greg Lestrade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musingsofapointlessexistance](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=musingsofapointlessexistance).



> This is my twist on a Summerlock 2014 exchange prompt for musingsofapointlessexistance. I think you were expecting something else, but I hope you still like it!  
> The prompt was: "Bottom!lock. DI Lestrade has, in his profession, experienced many strange things. One thing he never expected to see, however, is Sherlock Holmes, tied down to his desk wearing nothing but his coat and a gag in his mouth, gasping desperately for John, who is in complete BAMF! Military mode. Things get a bit... Awkward."

Greg leaned back in his chair and watched the young, lithe woman on the stage slide and twirl on the pole. He had to admit that as far as adventures with Sherlock went, this one wasn’t half bad. He sipped his seltzer water and eyed Sherlock staring at every dancer. Most of them avoided his predatory inquisitiveness in favor of clients who looked more biddable.

A ginger girl with a blue sparkly bikini top that barely covered her nipples passed by, heading towards the bar. Sherlock made a soft _Oh!_ and launched up from his chair after her.

“Lestrade, keep your eyes open. Don’t just sit there and drool on your jacket all evening.” Sherlock shot over his shoulder.

“Hello, Miss?” Greg heard Sherlock ask when he reached her. He slouched a little bit, forced himself to sound hesitant. 

The woman turned and gave Sherlock an appraising smile. Sherlock somehow made himself blush faintly- Greg had no idea how the hell he did that.

“Are you looking for a dance?” She asked.

“I...if you’re free, um…” Sherlock bit his lip and looked at her shyly through his eyelashes.

She held out her hand to him. “I’m Candy. Why don’t we go to the Champagne Room?”

“Okay. I mean, yes. I’d like that.” Sherlock let himself be led, and broke character long enough to shoot Greg a triumphant smirk.

“He gets all the luck, bastard,” Greg muttered into his glass.

###

Of course Sherlock’s luck usually ran out pretty quickly when it came to dealing with human beings. 

About five minutes after going back into the Champagne Room, Greg heard the shouting start. The girl in the blue top stormed out, heading right for the manager’s office. Sherlock appeared a moment behind, unruffled, smoothly buttoning his jacket as he came back over to Greg. 

“I think it’s time to go,” Sherlock said, indicating the manager’s office with a jerk of his head.

“What the hell did you do this time?” Greg asked, abandoning his drink as he got up to leave. The manager had poked her head out of the office door, and was glaring at Sherlock as the dancer gestured wildly in their direction.

“I mentioned I was looking for a source of heroin and she became incensed when I suggested that if I found a dealer, I could pay her in product. _What?_ ” Sherlock twisted his face as Greg rolled his eyes and made for the door in double time.

“You don’t offer sex workers drugs in payment, Sherlock. Christ.”

“We’re looking for a drug dealer that’s poisoning people, Lestrade. How did you think I was going to get my data?” Sherlock flung the door open and they walked out into the chill night air.

“Maybe by not being a wanker? Try charm next time, or maybe, I don’t know, ‘I’m looking for this fellow, have you seen him?' Suggesting that someone is a drug addict...Christ do I need to tell _you_ that?” Greg unlocked the car door. 

Sherlock sniffed and looked unrepentant. “She is a drug addict.”

“Get in the car. Someday your big mouth is going to get you into trouble.”

###

A few days later, Greg had forgotten all about the incident with the dancer. He had written it off as another day with Sherlock Holmes. Anyway, they had apprehended the drug dealer with leads from Sherlock’s eyes and ears in his homeless network. Case closed, end of story.

As he stepped out of the St. James’ Park tube station on his way into work, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Sally:

_You need to come to the station right away  
You have to see what’s on your desk!_

“Oh, now what?” Greg groaned. Probably four or five more folders of forms and reports to look forward to. 

_I’m right outside_ , he texted her back.  
He stopped first to get a coffee from a street vendor. There was no sense of even looking at a mound of desk work without caffeine.

###

When Greg arrived, there was a gaggle of people outside of his office door.

“All right, all right. What’s going on?” Greg asked. Then he heard John Watson’s voice booming from inside his office.

“It was only a matter of time before this happened, you know. It’s lucky you didn’t end up in the damn Thames!” John shouted.

Greg pushed through the grinning yarders and looked in. John was standing ramrod straight, his hands curled into tight fists on his hips. But is wasn’t John in no-nonsense officer mode that made Greg’s jaw drop. Sherlock was spread out over his desk face up, each wrist and ankle tied to corner of his desk in rope with tidy loops and knots. He was starkers, besides his bloody fancy coat, and someone had a little propriety and had covered his groin with a newspaper. A ball gag was firmly wedged in his mouth.

Sherlock tilted his head back to look at John. His face was pleading. “Mrgh! Mrmm!” He tried desperately around the gag.

“You got what you deserved, Stop begging me to let you go,” John scolded.

“What the hell?” Greg finally managed to ask.

“I took the gag out earlier. He pissed off an exotic dancer and she and her friends jumped him and decided to teach him a lesson in humiliation,” John said. “He’s not hurt, or anything.”

Greg began to snicker, which turned into a chuckle, until finally, he was caught up in a full belly laugh. Sherlock did his very best to stare daggers at him whilst drooling around the gag. Greg held his sides, tears running down his face. 

When Greg got control of himself again, he turned to his staff. Sherlock had been an arsehole to all of them at one point in time. “Everyone line up nice and orderly. Now, I better not see any awkward photos on Facebook or Instagram, but I don’t see any harm with few private snaps of the great Sherlock Holmes getting his just deserts!”

“Mrrrrf!” said Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Anarfea and Prurient_curiosity for betaing once again!


End file.
